


i was her love, she was my queen (and now a thousand years between)

by veronicassadboi



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Ambrose is a cocky know it all who tries his damn hardest to get into her black lace, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Astral Projection, Coffeeshop!Prudence, Everything is Beautiful and Everything Hurts, F/M, Heavy Angst, How far is too far to go for love?, I guess I'll see you next lifetime, I think I'm in love.... again, Librarian!Ambrose, No witchy shit really, Prudence is a salty girl who could kill a man, THERE WILL BE KINKY PAMBROSE SEX AND I HOPE IT'LL BE HAWT AF, Why can't they ever be happy in any lifetime?, Would you travel for all eternity to find each other? Because Pambrose would, but it is heavily implied, if you're looking for any other characters or ships this is definitely the wrong place, this is an AU and it's quite OOC just so you know
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-04
Updated: 2020-03-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 11,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23018974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veronicassadboi/pseuds/veronicassadboi
Summary: Ambrose clutches Prue to his chest, refusing to let her go. She feels flames licking her thighs, screams as loud as sirens. Ashes sit on her tongue and the sweet pain of impending death. Her heartpraysfor it. She wants to be set free. Yet, she’s nowhere near the stake and flames. “Let me go!” she begs, beating his chest. “We need to save her!”Ambrose holds onto her wrists tighter, never letting her go. “Prue!” He shouts, forcing her hands behind her back. “I can’t!”“Why?!”He turns her to look at the crowd before them. The woman at the stake all dressed in lace that was up in flames. Her love that is stripped bare and forced to watch. Prue feels each and every single one of her atoms tear apart. Every one of her heart valves stop working, her blood seems to split inside her. She holds onto Ambrose as her soul shatters peering at the two people on display. It was ethereal, beautiful in some sadistic way. She looks into a mirror, she’d recognise his face anywhere and in any life. She sees her own face, all up in flames and smoke. “If I let you save them, Prudence, then we’ll never be. And I love you too much to not have you in this lifetime.”
Relationships: Pambrose, Prudence Blackwood & Ambrose Spellman, Prudence Blackwood/Ambrose Spellman, Prudence Night & Ambrose Spellman, Prudence Night/Ambrose Spellman
Comments: 12
Kudos: 29





	1. The Riverside

**Author's Note:**

  * For [acrookedsaint](https://archiveofourown.org/users/acrookedsaint/gifts).



> The boundaries of love? There are none, and this proves it. Chemistry and history mesh in every universe, in every timeline.  
> I will say some may find this OOC, it is for the sake of the story - they don't know they're magical (if magical at all) the only magic here is the limitless love between Prudence and Ambrose. 
> 
> Secondly, for my beta - acrookedsaint - you are just that, a saint, that I owe a lot of my creative energies to. 
> 
> And so, we begin.

**1.**

* * *

_ The young pair lay silent in the afternoon sun. Though he is dressed in silks, she is wrapped in linens that smell of the lavender flowers he places behind her ear. The sun gives her skin a glowing sheen for which he traces patterns on her skin, following the path of the sunshine.  _

_ Lavender grows wildly across the river beds, and when he misses her, he simply needs to think of the wild river with its wild lavender edges, sometimes cruel and unforgiving like her temper, at other times delicate and steady like the blooming flowers.  _

_ Shafts of sunlight fall upon her smile that is framed with moistened lips to which he places his thumb over. Her beauty was incomparable to anything of which he had ever seen. Crimson lips, honeyed skin, slanted eyes that he often felt were deep and endless, like the raging river. Her beauty haunted him and was often the reason for his fear of sleeping. The love he holds dearly in his chest is only for her, of that, he would never think otherwise.  _

_ The banks of the river were their sanctuary. If people gathered in the dark, stone churches to pray to a God, then he would fall to his knees at the banks of the rivers of the entire world and pray to the woman in his arms.  _

_ The whispers that followed them in the air were true. They whispered of her beauty with fear, they said she could suck the light out of the darkness like a disease and make the entire world seem black. She spoke spells and crippled men. They would whisper that he was her victim, but that could never be true when they loved each other so much.  _

_ “We shall sit steadfast forever,” his love spoke.  _

_ He laughs. “This shan’t last forever,” he tells her. “I fear forever is not as it seems.” _

_ His love tilts her head, the sun glistening in her eyes like spun gold. “Trust me, dear love, forever is always as it seems when you and I live with the same breath.”  _

_ She spoke spells that surely crippled him. He will believe her until his dying breath. “Ah, my Queen,” he sighs. “Forever in your arms will surely never be long enough. It will never bode well for me to be apart from you.” For the briefest moment, her eyes fall pensive as she looks across the water, he holds her tighter when her lips slightly fall. “What worries you, my Queen?” _

_ He feels the slowing of her heart beat, a caught breath trapped inside her throat. “I’m not a Queen, my love,” she answers with the sun finally bringing back its warmth into her cheeks.  _

_ “Thy face fell pale,” he argues.  _

_ “Me thinks I saw a vision.”  _

_ “Vision?” _

_ “Of you and I in love, across the way.”  _

_ He clutches her tighter. “‘Tis not a vision, my love,” he laughs. “‘Tis but our morning and night, ‘tis the life that we live.”  _

_ She smiles again, small kisses on the insides of his wrists. The sunlight remains, but the shadows of night start to appear as the sun sets. _

* * *

This particular day always sucks. It’s raining, but she kind of likes it that way. Somewhat melancholic and overly dramatic. The rain is fitting. It reminds her of endless tears, everyone’s remorse that only lasted a few hours. It reminds her of the feeling of  _ loss _ .

Prue strikes a match, one for the candle she lights. It’s not the usual kind she buys, all tall and thin, melting over the candelabra like some gothic mystic. It’s plain, in a mason jar and smells like vanilla and pear. “Rest in peace, mom,” she groans before chucking the match on the table next to it. “Five years and counting, here’s to another one,” she says, knocking her glass of green juice to the candelabra. “Cheers.” 

She takes a sip of the green juice, screwing up her face at the taste of celery before pulling out a packet of Marlboro golds and striking another match to spark it up. She takes a deep draw, holding in the smoke before letting it out in a breath across the empty room of her apartment. 

It was so cold in here now that Agatha had moved back to Greendale. Dee had promised she’d stay in New York, but the bright lights and city buzz just didn’t do it for her. Not in the way that Southside Serpent did it. But, Prue doesn’t blame her. 

If the dick is good, the dick is good, and she couldn’t hate her sister for that. Prue smiles to herself as she thinks of her sisters, today of all days, she wishes they were all together. 

The rain beats steadily on the windows and she forces down the rest of her green juice, letting her mind get lost in the symbolic hang out with her mom in the form of a candle. On this day, she’ll remember to do all the little things she usually never does, and her mom would usually hound her to do. She picks up the wet towel on the ground and puts it in the laundry basket, she remembers to rinse out her cup. She starts eating a piece of fruit and she waters her plants. The lone cactus was her favourite, how the lavender doesn’t wilt and die is beyond her. “An extra bit of water for you today, my purple friend,” she says, emptying a cup of water into the lavender pot. “So I don’t have to fucking do it for another two weeks.” 

If she could get away with it, she’d stay in her apartment and never leave. There were still small things around the place that made her sisters' presence feel like they were still there and yet reminded her that they weren’t. Agatha’s jacket still hung on the coat rack that she keeps promising she’d come and get when she comes to stay for a weekend, Dee’s piles of books that still sit next to the small sofa. 

The apartment was small and filled with trinkets and treasures she could never part with. Metres of silks that hung on the walls, hundreds of candles that dripped and melted over all her shelving, her plants that she tried oh so hard to keep alive for her mother’s sake. As if the death of her plants would be the untimely death of her memories. Her pots and pans hang from the ceiling and her books along with Dee’s will never have a proper home, so piles in the corners it has to be. 

Prue stubs out another cigarette in the ashtray that sits on a small kitchen table then stands to stretch. Another bleak day in New York City haunts her, but it’s better than feeling like she’s drowning like she usually does. 

* * *

The smell of burnt coffee beans burns her nostrils and the plumes of steam get in the way of her eyesight as she works the machines. A head pops over the coffee machine and she internally groans.  _ Great _ , she thinks.  _ It’s him again. _

He was handsome, that was for sure. She and Roz loved staring at him from a distance, usually behind the cover of the cake stands or if they’re walking down the street and they manage to catch a glimpse of him through the library window. He had this cocky way of running his tongue across his teeth that she kind of likes and he likes to lean on the counter so she can see down his shirt and he definitely had a chest worth looking at. And abs if she could just see a little more… “You’re pretty when you’re daydreaming…” pulls her out of her trance. 

“Huh?” she chokes, realising the milk is overflowing in the steel jug. She shoots him a glare. 

“You’re pretty when you’re daydreaming,” he shrugs.

“And you’re an entitled prick,” she mumbles. “Thinking you have the right to say something like that to me.” 

He puts his hands up in the air. “Woah,” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to insult you. Whatever you were daydreaming about, I hope it was worth it because I think you might have just re-woken up on the wrong side of the bed.” 

_ Like you wouldn’t believe… _ She blushes but grits her teeth as she looks down at the cash register. “What would you like today?” 

“Hmmm,” he starts, pondering over the menu. 

_ Oh here we go, _ she thinks, holding back a roll of her eyes. 

“I mean, definitely a coffee…” he says, tapping his forefinger on his chin and pretending to think about his order. 

_ “No shit,” _ she mutters under her breath. “Are you sure you don’t just want a double shot latte with a half shot of hazelnut with almond milk?”

He cocks an eyebrow, leaning on the counter with his elbow and his head resting on his hand. “You know my order?” he says with a smirk. “That’s cute.” 

“Call it a gift,” she replies snippily. “I have a  _ wicked _ memory.” 

“Do you remember my name?” he asks with a grin that annoys her.  _ Great, he’s even cuter when he smiles… _

_ “Andy,” _ she says as she scribbles his name on the cup.  _ A-M-B-R-O-S-E _ the scrawl reads. 

“I’ll make it,” Roz shouts, winking at Prue from behind the machine. 

_ “I’ll _ make it,” Prue hisses back, throwing a towel at her friend. 

Roz shakes her head, jabbing Prue in the ribs while whispering; “Go for it, girl!” 

Prue hates Roz sometimes. A  _ lot _ of the time. But sometimes she loves her. Prue doesn’t want to go for it, she was perfectly fine on her own and only knowing Roz. She doesn’t need anyone else, she doesn’t need the extra  _ noise _ . Things are hard enough to cope with without having to deal with her mind and extra people on top of that. She leans against the counter, folding her arms across her chest and sighing. 

“You get paid to look waspish all the time?” he asks, tapping his fingers on the counter. 

She notices several rings on each of his fingers, one was a snake's head with protruding, golden fangs. “Do you get paid to use words I don’t really get?” 

He chuckles, bouncing back onto his feet. “I mean, kind of? I do work at a library. Waspish: standoffish. One might say bitchy. I say fiery. I don’t believe you’re as tetchy as you appear to be.”

“Well, you  _ are _ as annoying as you appear to be.” 

“Ah, Prue, it all comes with face value. You wear a lot of black, though, I doubt you’re as dark on the inside.” 

“You wear a lot of kitschy silk shirts, but I don’t think you do it for your own personal style, I think you do it because you think you’re being edgy.”

He flicks up the collar of his shirt. “So you do notice me?!” he says, clapping his hands together. 

Prue exhales loudly before Roz calls out; “Ambrose!” 

She snatches the coffee cup out of Roz’s hands, shooting her another glare, handing the coffee to Ambrose. “Here.” 

He examines the cup, turning it around until he gets to his name in Prue’s scrawl. “And you do know my name…” 

“Have a great day, Andy,” she says with a sarcastic grin. 

“I definitely will now,” he answers with a wink. But he pauses just before he goes to turn away. “Pretty, I like it.” 

“What?” she snaps, hand darting to her neck where his sight fell. 

“Amethyst,” he points to her neck. 

She eyes him curiously. His smile was bright and there was something about the look that he gave her that made her feel both unsettled and calm at the same time. He moved through the air like a breeze even in the small coffee shop and the way he speaks softly was almost soothing.  _ I hate it,  _ she decides.  _ Cocky bastard. _ “What do you know about amethysts?” she asks sharply. But the way he blinks slowly and the somewhat caring look in them makes her reign it in. “It was a gift from my mom…” she replies with pursed lips.

Ambrose tilts his head and takes a sip of his coffee. “Interesting... “ he hums. “Well, I know it’s supposed to help with mood swings, so I think I can write that one out of the books,” he teases, pursing his lips together in the same way she does. 

_ See, I was right, _ she thinks.  _ He’s a bastard _ . “Oh ha-ha,” she says sarcastically. 

Ambrose takes another sip of his coffee. “It’s pretty, it suits you. I mean, fitting, you wear lavender as well… moisturiser? Perfume? I think you might have a thing for purple,” he chuckles. “See you later, Prue.” 

She watches him storm out of the coffee shop into the wet weather with a grin and a bounce in his step. She was confused by him, it was like she’d spoken to him on more than a coffee order type basis. Like he knew intricacies about her, the minor details and the small quirks. She doesn’t like it, she knows that much. It feels like he’s under her skin, like his smile burns itself into her mind. 

She stands at the counter, staring at the glass door that he just walked out of. She wonders what he’s thinking and where he’s going. She thinks too much. She lifts her t-shirt and sniffs it. “Hey Roz,” she calls out. “Can you come and smell my shirt? I need to know if you can smell lavender on it.” 

Because he was wrong, she doesn’t wear it. But she sure as fucking hell has it in the house.

* * *

_ Rapids flow across the banks. She fears its unpredictable anger but her love remains in warmed water. “Join me, my Queen!” he bellows from the river. She notes a pile of gold sitting beside her, his jewels that adorn his fingers.  _

_ “Hush,” she warns. “You will anger the water, it’ll steal you from me if you continue to howl!” she laughs.  _

_ “I daren’t howl for you, what ails thee?” _

_ She cannot bring herself to tell him just what burns her mind. She smiles at her love. “But I cannot swim!” _

* * *

Prue wakes up gasping for breath, shooting to sit up in her bed. Her limbs are cold and her teeth chatter. 

It was like she was under water. 

Pulling her legs up to her chest, she wishes away tears. “Fuck off!” she groans out loud, but they don’t and she feels the warmth running down her cheeks, making tracks along her neck. 

The dreams never stop. They never have ever since she was a child. Her mother would rock her to sleep, kiss her hair, rub her back and that sometimes made the dreams seem like they were worth it, but since she had gone, no one was around anymore.

The dreams are always the same. Just a little too vivid, just a little too colourful and a little too noisy for her to properly rest, but the river was more real. 

The river is warm, the summer carries a heat and the water is icy sometimes. But they were dreams, so how could it be? Her mother always said she had an overactive imagination, but sometimes she’s too tired for that. She just wants it  _ gone _ . She doesn’t want to feel the warmth of a summer she’s never experienced, or the chill of a river she’s never been to. She wants to rest in her bed in her apartment with the fairy lights on watching true crime shows. This wasn’t what she signed up for when she was born as a human who requires sleep. 

She swings her legs out of her bed. Readjusting her t-shirt, she walks to her computer desk where the Mac sits and rubs her eyes before opening it and turning it on. She picks up a joint that she’d rolled earlier and lights it up, inhaling sharply and exhaling when the screen pops up to log in. 

Kicking her feet up on the seating of the bay window, she closes her eyes for a second. She can still see the remains of her dream with closed eyes. The blue water of the river, the laughter of people. The banks and the trees. “Seems better than this shitty New York weather,” she laughs as she takes another drag of her joint. 

Getting onto Google, she decides to type in:  _ Vivid dreams and meanings. _

Scrolling through the pages, she finds several sites with meanings about dreams and rivers, but nothing really connects to what she’s feeling. 

Like she was  _ at _ the river. 

She sniggers to herself. She knows that google is unreliable at the best of times, but it doesn’t stop her from needing answers. Dream meanings are different to being placed in a dream, and that, she wasn’t sure of how to convey in a simple google search. 

Prue keeps reading anyways, trying to soak in any little bit of mismatched information as possible.  _ And what will I do with all this information once I’m done reading it? _ She thinks. She wasn’t sure what any of it would be worth, but she wanted to feel like there was somewhat of an answer to what was happening in her dreams. 

She gets to the end of the joint and puts it in an empty candle jar next to her laptop, finally letting the feeling take her. The lack of weight, the heavy eyes, the feeling like her lungs have finally opened and she’s taken her first proper breath. 

She lies down on her bed, a smile on her lips. She was  _ free _ . 

The sheets of her bed are light and soft, her pillows surround her like she’s being held and she sighs as sleep takes her. 

There’s the sound of birds, the whisper of the trees and running water. 

But she simply lies in her bed in New York. 

* * *

“Good morning, Prue,” Ambrose beams. “You’re looking as beautiful as ever today, sunshine!” 

Prue rolls her eyes over the top of the coffee machine, turning off the grinder. “Does that actually work on women?” 

He shrugs, exhaling loudly. “Wouldn’t know,” he answers. “I don’t try it on women, only you.” 

“ _ Asshole _ ,” she mutters but it brings a smile to her face that she tries to hide by looking down at a coffee as she puts a lid on it. 

“Was that a smile? Have I finally broken down the toughest woman in New York?”

“The  _ world _ ,” she corrects. “But I’m just too fucking tired to argue with you.” 

“Ah,” he says, leaning on the counter in front of her. “Some late night romp with someone I will have to fight? Were you kept up all night?” 

She leans in front of him on the counter and she’s met with his surprise, she can tell by the cute look of written all over his face and the way he bites his lip when she moves closer to him. “Eh,” she shrugs. “Kind of.” 

“Oh, do tell,” he replies with a wink. 

_ I can’t exactly tell him the truth…  _ How does one say that they have such vivid dreams, it keeps them up at night? That most nights she wakes up feeling tired from simply dreaming? “Couldn’t sleep,” she says instead. “Nothing more to it than that.” 

“So…” he starts, running his tongue over his teeth. “No boyfriend keeping you up at night?”

Prue gives Ambrose a smirk. “No.” 

“No girlfriend?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Just me.” 

“No vicious dog or murderous cat?”

“Just me and the plants,” she says with a sigh.  _ Sometimes it’s so lonely… _

“Ah, I see. You’re a crazy plant lady.” 

“No, that would have been my mother,” she laughs. She takes a deep breath before realising she was getting too comfortable.  _ Enough small talk, _ she thinks. “Anyways, Andy,” she starts. “Your usual?”

Ambrose sighs and his face falters just the smallest amount when she pulls away. He stands up straight and starts twisting a ring on his finger. “Yes please,” he answers politely. 

Prue hands the order over to Roz who was more than eager to let them keep chatting and today, she’d do just that.  _ If Roz wants to play a game, she can do all the work…  _ she leans on the counter, staring at the wall. She feels the hairs stand up on the back of her neck. She can tell he’s watching, so obviously aware of his attention on her. “Having a good look then?” she hisses. 

She turns around to see his hands in the air. “Guilty as charged.” 

“Well?” 

“How’s the wall?” he asks. “Seems to be the most interesting thing in this coffee shop apparently.” 

“Ugh!” she groans, going back to folding her arms across her chest. “I’m just tired.” 

“Have you tried fixing your sleeping patterns? I mean, there’s only a shit tonne of books on bad sleeping habits, you could take one out if you wanted. I could recommend a couple?” he suggests. 

_ As if I’d take recommendations from you, _ she thinks. But something clicks. “Do you have anything on dreams?”

“What do you mean?” 

“Books about dreams, the meanings behind them,” she explains. But she takes a step back, feeling like she’s embarrassing herself. 

“Hmmm,” he says, tapping his fingers on the counter again before nodding. “Yes, we do… but it’ll involve spending about an hour with me in a library, would you be open to that?” 

Prue eyes him sideways, picking his coffee up that sits next to her and handing it to him. “Call it a date.” 

“Oh,” he nods, “I will  _ definitely _ be calling it that,” he winks before walking out of the store. 

Again, she’s stuck staring at the door.  _ I hate him, _ she thinks.  _ I hate him. _ She doesn’t hate him. She hates that there’s something about him that makes her smile at a fucking door. 

* * *

There was definitely something different about Ambrose when he was amongst the books. She notices how his fingers seem to dance along book spines while he walks down the rows. He exudes an aura that Prue can almost see when he stands amidst coloured pages and dusty paper. He was in his element and he was loving it. 

They get to a small corner of the library, tucked away from everyone and she feels cramped and surrounded. “So, what exactly are you after?” he asks, resting his elbow in his palm and putting his hand to the side of his face. 

“A bit personal, don't you think?” she says, eyes running over the books while reading the titles. 

“How am I supposed to know exactly what you need when you don’t tell me? I know we’re merely acquaintances -”

“Overstatement of the year -” 

“But if you need my help, you’ll need to tell me more about your dreams…” 

Prue gives him a questioning glare. “How do you know about my dreams?” she snaps. 

“Because you’re looking for books about dreams? Unless you have some side business of course where you pretend you’re like a psychic or something?”

She smiles to herself.  _ Good one, Prue, _ she thinks. “And how exactly do you plan on helping me? You’ve shown me where the books live, what more is there to help with?”

“I’ve read every single one of these books,” he says, patting a pile of them. “I know everything about them and exactly which ones would fit your situation.” 

“I call bullshit.” 

“Call it bullshit if you want, but it’s not. It’s a fact.” 

“As if you had the time to read all of these,” she says running her eyes up and down the aisle. “There’s got to be hundreds here!” 

“Observant,” he says with a wink. “I work here, Prue. I have the time. It’s practically my job to read shit.” 

She nods. “I guess you’re right.” 

She flits through pages of some, reading the titles of others. She notices he follows a few steps behind, but she doesn’t mind. Something’s unsettling her thoughts and having someone around was somewhat comforting for the first time in forever. She stops at a section and he fingers through the spines of some next to her. She notices his rings again.  _ Why would he need so many rings? _ She thinks. 

He catches her eyes and he wiggles his fingers. “Ooh, shiny things,” he teases. 

“Why would you wear so many rings?” she asks. “Doesn’t the weight of all that gold hurt your hands?” she snickers. 

“I inherited them,” he answers, looking at them. 

“Even that one,” she asks, pointing at the snake head. “A bit over the top, don’t you think?”

“That one is a mystery to me,” he sighs. “Also inherited, but not sure what the background is. It’s my favourite.” 

“It really is a statement piece,” she says looking at it sideways. 

“A fanciful way of saying it’s ugly…” he observes. “But tell me more about the dreams.” 

With all her walls up, there’s still something that she likes about him. A comfort that comes from his smile, the way he moves his entire body like he’s made out of the silk that he wears, his witty commentary and his sense of humour. It was hard to unpack, but she felt like there was a reason to smile when she was here in this library, 

“I keep dreaming about a river. There are people there. Someone’s scared of the water, someone isn’t… I don’t know how to describe it.” 

“So you’d be looking to see what the water and river represent… I have just the book.” 

Prue gives him a confused look. “You do?” 

“I didn’t invite you here to try and pry information out about your dreams. I did actually want to help,” he says seriously. The slightly defeated look hurts her. _Don’t_ _turn_ _soft_ _now_ , she warns herself. 

“In that case,” she says a little too brightly, trying to pick up the atmosphere. “I’ll take whatever you suggest.” 

His grin feels like it dances on her skin, the breath he exhales loosens him, but she feels like it loosens her too. Lets her take another deep breath, makes her feel like maybe something good will come out of this. “ _ Water And Its Deeper Meanings,” _ he calls out, plucking it off the bookshelf. “ _ Stories From The Sleepless Dimension… The Secret Society of Sleep… _ these are the ones that will help and off the top of my head, hold information about rivers.” 

She eyes them and holds out her hands to grab them. “I hope these work…” she says quietly. 

Ambrose tilts his head. “You okay?” he asks. “You’re not afraid of a little water, are you?”

_ Not a little bit. A lot of water… _ “Maybe,” she says with a shrug. 

He smiles, “Well, in that case, I will make sure you keep afloat.” He reaches out to touch her amethyst. 

In a split second, she feels like the breath has been knocked out of her and her entire body shivers. She takes a gasp of air like she’s been winded. The room falls black yet, just as quickly, everything turns to normal and she’s met with his confused look, jerking back his hand and shaking it. She looks at him disorientated, putting her hand over her amethyst. “What’s with you and my necklace?” she asks.

She wasn’t sure what had happened, maybe it was a headache, lack of hydration. Maybe it was just all in her head that she was convinced something wasn’t just quite right, but there’s something in his eyes that tells her that something didn’t add up. “Oh,” he says then he clears his voice. “Ah, my mom used to have a huge collection of stones. It just reminds me of her.” 

“It’s one of the only things I have from my mom too,” she says quietly. 

“You can cleanse it in moonlight,” he says, clearing his throat again. He points to the ceiling. “Keeps it in optimum condition to absorb all the cosmic energy,” he says with a light chuckle. 

She raises an eyebrow. “And how do you know about cosmic energy?” she asks. “You’re very intriguing.”

Ambrose exhales loudly. “You know what? I don’t really know...” 

Prue stands watching him. There’s a small scar on the right side of his lip, a sharpness in his jaw and heavy brow. When she looks into his eyes, they seem dark, deep and curious. Like she’s looked into them a thousand times. She smiles at him and looks down at the ground. “Thanks for these, Ambrose,” she murmurs. “I better get going… it’s getting late.” 

He nods, tucking his hands into his jean pockets and biting his lip. “Best date I’ve been on in a while,” he replies. “I’d do it again and again if I could.” 

Ambrose opens the door for Prue as she steps outside and they stand before each other again. “You know a lot of strange things, Ambrose,” she laughs. “And all I know is your coffee order.” 

“Is that you trying to say you want to get to know me?” he asks quietly. 

She shakes her head. “Definitely not.” 

He still smiles. “I hope that you get all your answers,” he tells her. “And that you may rest in peace tonight.” 

“Me too,” she groans. “I would love some rest.”

“Lavender is supposed to help with sleep and stress relief, you’d think you’d be fine since you wear it all the time.” 

“Not even the weed helps.”

“Weed always helps,” he scoffs. “But seriously, lavender,” he says, clicking his fingers. He bows then spins on his heels to walk away. “I’ll see you for my next caffeine fix, Prue!” 

There’s a change in the wind as they walk their separate ways. There’s a pain in her chest, or even a slowing of her blood flow. There was a change in her. A  _ longing _ . 

She longs for what’s walking in the opposite direction. Like she misses something that she doesn’t even know. 

* * *

The darkness is endless in the cold night. Prue was wrapped up in a blanket that made her feel like maybe she was in her mother’s embrace. But the reality was painful, so she tried not to live in it for too long. 

She eats chinese takeout with the books spread across her desk with her knees hiked up to her chest and her side lamp on. She didn’t know where to start. The books were all long, they all held so much detail and which one to start off with was giving her brain damage. “Should have got his number after all,” she mumbles with a mouth full of food. “At least he could tell me which one would be best.” 

Prue decides on ‘water and its deeper meaning’ but upon flicking through the pages, it doesn’t quite make sense. It explains the meanings of water in dreams, but the water she notices doesn’t feel like it has a hidden meaning - it just feels like it’s there and it’s a moment in time. 

She filters through the other two books, both with similar explanations. “I don’t need to know what the water means! I need to know why it’s there!” she groans to herself, noodles falling out of her mouth onto the floor. But none of them seem to explain anything. She doesn’t need a book to talk about turbulence in her life, how it could mean fertility or prosperity. The river didn’t feel anything like that in her dream. 

Shutting the books and hopping in bed, she tries to decipher her thoughts, but nothing comes to mind. It’s just a dream, she reminds herself.  _ Just a stupid, annoying dream.  _

She falls asleep in her mom’s blanket, her mind falling blank.

* * *

_ The water reaches to the neck, though the feeling of weightlessness overcomes her, the young girl barely keeps afloat. “I have lost all trust in thee!” she scolds, trying to hold on to her breath.  _

_ “Nay - ‘tis in thy nature to be so wild, my love,” he replies, arms holding her safely to his body. “I will never let you fall under.”  _

_ She relaxes against him, feeling the leather binding of his silk against her and clinging to his chest. “Let me show thee what I gathered in a vision?” _

_ The cold stone moves up and down with the passing currents of the river. Her loves fingers dance with the leather strapping around her neck, reaching to the purple stone that he had gifted moons ago. “If you must,” he agrees.  _

_ In the currents, she is wrapped around his waist with nothing but her legs. Her hands are twined with his. “Close your eyes.”  _

_ He does as he is told. The water’s currents feel stalled and calm. “What do you see?” she asks.  _

_ “I see two figures. It feels like us.”  _

_ She nods. “They sit just beyond the lavender,” she says, her eyes sewn shut. “They see us too.”  _

_ “Do not speak of it,” he begs. “They already fear us!” _

_ She falls under the water. _

* * *

Prue wakes up, the feeling over water filling her lungs.

She gasps, as her eyes open and she reaches to the ceiling as if trying to find something to grab on to. “ _ AMBROSE!” _ she shouts. 

The room doesn’t feel like it’s spinning. It’s sinking further and further, losing itself to reality. When she realises where she is, she scowls, holding onto herself. 

“Fuck you, Ambrose,” she mutters. “You’ve got to my fucking head.”

She rolls out of bed, taking a cigarette and putting it to her lips, she searches for her matches. Looking through her clothing, she can’t find them until she pats down her night shirt. In the breast pocket she finds them. “Thank fuck,” she hisses. 

When she pulls them out, she has a feeling in her throat that doesn’t disappear. When she goes to strike the match, it’s wet. 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. The Snake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To my beta, the saint.   
> To my readers, the angels.

**2.**

* * *

_ Moonlight pours upon a wooden bench. Hushed whispers make their way through the room with cracks in the packed clay of the walls. The two work quickly before the moon finds shelter behind rolling clouds and the young man extends his arm, earning a shiver from the young woman beside him. Her eyes lay on the ring he wears on his right hand, a sharpened tooth snake's head all shined in gold.  _

_ From his silken sleeve protrudes a snake coloured like ink. Though she trusts him with her life, the snake still makes her shiver in its presence. It rolls and slithers its way up her love’s neck, coasting across his dark skin. When he turns to look at her, she looks into his eyes that are slit like and glassed over before they roll again and she is yet again met with the man that she loves peering back. “You must keep him secret,” the young woman whispers, eyes never leaving the snake. “This bodes not well for thee.”  _

_ The snake finds shelter under the wooden bench, curling into a pile among the dried valerian roots hidden from prying eyes. “‘Tis not evil,” he murmurs, kissing the girl upon her temple. “He is of goodly use.”  _

_ “We are surrounded by those who believe us evil…” she replies, heavy of heart that is only picked up when he kisses her again. _

_ “We have nothing to hide, we needn’t run,” he answers calmly. “We mustn’t hide.”  _

_ She plucks lavender with vigor from a bush in the moonlight beyond the window. “They grow more fearful of us.”  _

_ Even in moonlight he falls in love with the crimson of her lips, the strength of her pride and the sweet taste of her skin. His loyal snake hisses from the flooring where it is most heated from the day's sun. “Blessed sleep leaves me with mysterious dreams. Do confess that said dreams leave imprints in thy mind also…” She leaves fallen lavender in a wooden bowl, only bringing her eyes to his when she confesses with a smile. He smiles back. “You receive my mysterious dreams...”  _

_ “Thy dreams are mysterious with grey clouds and melancholy,” she replies sharply. “It says nothing more about thy manner, only about your clouded mind!”  _

_ Again, he smiles at her and holds her attention on him with another kiss. “Do not curse me, my Queen,” he replies chuckling. “‘Tis only because I cannot live without you, that in my dreams, we are together until the end of time. ‘Twill never change.”  _

_ She fears what the end of time holds, and when it shall greet them. She hears the whispers upon the village, the fear that they hold for her. Mistresses’ eyes on her herbs and oils, Maid’s wicked words about her stones. She simply uses her gift for healing, she did not pray to their God for this. It was a curse bestowed upon her that she must use for goodly will, or it would be her undoing.  _

_ “Tell me what haunts you,” he murmurs, pulling her closer into his arms. “I see the haunting in your eyes…” he reaches around her neck, loosening the leather binding that holds her stone. “Thy stone needs cleansing, my Queen. Allow it to bask in this full moon -” _

_ “It does not -” _

_ “It holds on to all ill thought!” _

_ As his hands brush her skin, his eyes roll back and she can hear the rattling in his chest, the hissing lodged deep within his throat though his snake remains perched beside him, resting in a slumber. Her love’s fingers dig into her shoulders, though slightly painful, her chest rises too, tasting the bitter edge of the river’s water on her tongue, feeling the water fill her lungs. Her fear rears its ugly head, the haunting shows itself to the two of them as she feels water behind her eyes, spilling from her nose. When it is over, she can finally see and she watches his eyes roll back to his own. “‘Tis nothing,” she lies.  _

_ His breath finally welcomes itself back into his lungs. “‘Tis not nothing, my Queen!” he replies, taking her face into both his hands. “You fear we will be hunted?” _

_ She remembers the vision they had shared. The hunt, the chase, the feeling of burning from her feet. “‘Tis a foolish dream…”  _

_ “Mayhaps,” he nods. “Your mind is so wild and unable to be tamed.” _

_ She is aware her mind is wild and untamable, the wildfires of her dreams feel too real though and her feet are too tender to the touch. She wills the dreams away. She bundles dried lavender under her pillow. For safe rest.  _

* * *

Prue opens her eyes and for the first time all week, the sun was shining through. She throws a pillow at the window, pissed at herself that she didn’t close the curtains last night and now the happy-go-lucky stream of light was forcing its way through the window and into her eyes. “Fuck!” she groans, noticing the pillow had hit her lavender plant. The smell was overwhelming. 

Lying in her bed with only her bra and underwear on, she appreciates the solitude of the apartment. No more barging in at all hours of the day and night from Agatha, no more Dee stealing her clothes or her mother trying to tidy up every now and then. In the solitude she looks around at the somewhat organised chaos. 

The apartment only has one room, but for the last year of her mother’s life, it held all of them in it. She needed to be treated in New York and her girls couldn’t be away from her. When they all slowly left after their mom departed this earth, it was lonely. But now the loneliness doesn’t suck so much anymore. 

The lavender bush is growing so fast, she wishes she could ask her mom what to do with it all. Deciding on a google search instead, she figures she’d just need to cut it.  _ I don’t think I could deal with the smell all the time, _ she thinks. But she knows her mom would kill her if she didn’t look after all the plants like they were her babies. 

She lights a cigarette while still in her sheets. She closes her eyes while taking the first puff for the day, letting the lightheadedness take her for a moment before opening them again. Leaning over to her bedside table she picks up a pen that sits in the wooden bowl next to her that she instead flicks her cigarette into but the smell of burning lavender fills the room. 

Sitting up properly, she notices a bundle of lavender in the bowl. “Man, was I  _ that _ high last night?” she asks herself out loud, shaking her head and blowing out the burning lavender that she’d dumped her ash on. Not remembering putting the lavender in the bowl at all, but remembering that Ambrose had mentioned something about lavender being good for sleeping…

_ Ambrose _ , she groans internally, eyes darting to the pile of books she’d got out from the library under his guidance that she needs to return. The books didn’t do shit and she wasn’t reading another paragraph about how water might represent this, that and the other. 

Her latest dream was about people whispering under moonlight.  _ How fucking vague… _

She grabs the notebook next to her and starts jotting down her thoughts. Her latest attempt at trying to figure out her dreams was by writing them down. It definitely made her feel like a fifteen year old girl with a Dream Journal, but it was worth a shot. The voices at the river were the same as the voices in the moonlight and as stupid as it sounds, it had to mean  _ something _ . 

She gets writing, ash burning the pages. When she’s done, she gets out of bed and slowly makes her way to the bathroom to get ready for another day.

After her shower, Prue realises she’s late. Rushing to the door she gets into a physical confrontation with her keys, fumbling them and dropping them before getting them into the lock and locking her apartment. “Hey,” sounds behind her. 

Prue internally groans.  _ Fuck _ , she thinks. Turning on her heels, she puts her keys into her pocket and slings her bag over her shoulder. “Shit, look, I’m sorry I promise I’ll get the rent to you by this afternoon.” 

“Fighting with the door is not a great way to prove one’s sanity.” Her landlord shrugs, scuffing his Docs on the landing carpet, he has his leather jacket on and cigarette tucked behind his ear but he shoots her a lopsided grin. “But, no, it’s fine about the rent,” he shrugs. “I’m sure V will be fine with the late payment. She’s on her way to Riverdale for a girls weekend.” 

V is the owner of the building that always walks too quickly and gets overly excited about stuff, also, probably one of the richest people in both Greendale and Riverdale combined.  _ How can two hot people own this entire block… _ “Cool,” she replies quickly. “I’ll be heading off then.” 

“Look,” he says turning around after her, lifting his hand to wave her down. “I promised my best friend I’d see if you’d be keen on a  _ proper _ date when she gets into New York… after said girls weekend…” He gives an awkward grin. “I’d be the worst fucking friend on earth if I didn’t ask, and she has a  _ serious _ crush on you…”

Prue groans, running a hand over her head.  _ Shit… _ “Tell Toni I’m sorry, but I have a boyfriend now.” His friend was seriously hot, super sweet and a badass, but Prue couldn't commit to anything more than a hookup this time around. 

“Ooh,” he says with a grimace. “She’s going to  _ hate _ me.” 

“Don’t shoot the messenger and shit, right?” she says, giving him a sympathetic smile. “I promise to get the rent to you by this afternoon, Mr Jones!” 

Prue runs down the street wishing she could move out of the apartment block. Knowing someone even associated with the apartment block that may want to know her on more than a first name basis was unsettling. She doesn’t like humans, she’s decided.

* * *

Prue watches Ambrose walk along the front of the coffee shop with his hands in his pockets and she feels her breath hitch in her throat, somewhere between her sternum and her trachea. Time almost slows just for a second until she realises she’s being stupid and instead starts scowling towards the door as he walks in. 

His hands are in front of him, his fingers rotating his over the top snake ring that he always wears.  _ Great _ , she thinks.  _ There he goes with that ridiculous ring again…  _ he gets to the counter, raising an eyebrow. “Prue,” he says in a sigh, almost dreamily. “You weren’t in yesterday…” 

“It was my day off,” she replies bluntly. 

He pouts. “The coffee just doesn’t taste as good when you’re not around… how’s the sleep going?” 

“What?” she asks, suspicion running through her, making the hairs on her arms stand up. 

“The sleep?” he repeats, tilting his head. “I gave you the books?”

“Oh!” she says with a light laugh. “Right.  _ Well… _ ” she shrugs. “Fucking shit.” 

“The lavender didn’t work?”

_ Wow _ , she thinks.  _ I must have been really, really high… _ “How did you know I tried it?” she asks, putting her hands on her hips. Not really sure if she did in fact try it or it just happened to be in the bowl next to her out of coincidence and thanks to great weed. 

“How am I to know you  _ didn’t?” _ he shrugs back. 

Another scowl.  _ Fucking dick… _ “I asked you first.”

“I just assumed,” he answers. “I can smell it.” 

She pauses for a moment, trying to read him. There was something about him that confuses her, but there was also something about him that she feels like she knows.  _ Yeah _ , she reminds herself.  _ His fucking coffee order… _ The small smile that he gives to her makes it hard for her to not smile back. He drums his fingers on the counter. “Why is it that whenever you come in here, no one else comes in and then I’m forced into having to talk to you the entire time?” 

Ambrose shrugs but his laugh is loud and booming. “I don’t know,” he says, throwing his hands in the air. “Maybe it’s the universe trying to throw us together.” 

Prue rolls her eyes. “The cosmic energies you were talking about the other day at the library, maybe?” 

He looks at her, impressed. “So you were listening to me?” 

She lifts her shoulders. “I don’t listen to foolish men,” she murmurs, leaning in closer to him. “I remember bits of conversations so that if you ever try anything on me, and I have to murder you, I can build a proper story…” she snaps her teeth in front of him, causing him to flinch. 

He fakes a shiver. “You’re scary.”

“And yet you still need your coffee.” 

Ambrose grins. “You may be scary, some sort of demonic Queen thing going on,” he says, waving his hand in front of her. “But I like it, it suits you…it’s your vibe.” 

“Why?” she asks almost in a whisper. Thrown by his calm demeanour, his smile he still wears even when talking to her, the way he seems to just fit even when she pushes. 

“Because I’m a little different too…” 

Prue exhales loudly, folding her arms across her chest. She shouldn’t be feeling things. By  _ things _ , she wasn’t sure what she means exactly but she knows feelings don’t sit well with her. Especially when it comes to the weird library guy who smells her too often. She briefly wonders if the best plan of attack was just that - to  _ attack _ him, but she knows she’s being too dramatic. “Calling me weird is not the best way to try and get into my good books, Andy.” 

He licks his teeth, leaning onto the counter he summons her closer with his fingers. She leans in and he whispers; “I could tell you all the things I can do with my tongue?” 

Her cheeks turn hot and she concentrates on his lips a little too long, making her wonder exactly what he could do with his tongue when his lips are so inviting… she snaps out of it. “Sorry, lover,” she says, straightening herself out and smirking. “Ain’t nothing you can do that my hand can’t,” she lifts her right hand in the air. 

He bites his lip, attempting to suppress a grin. “Your hand can’t like you like I can…” 

Her heart beats a little too harshly for her liking. Again, she blushes and takes a deep breath, trying not to grin back. “You don’t like me,” she warns him. “You like the  _ idea _ of me.” 

“Yeah, maybe I do…” he agrees, taking a step back from the counter and putting his hands in his pockets. “Maybe I like the idea that you’re a strong, independent woman -” 

“Like Destiny’s Child.”

“Like  _ Beyonce _ ,” he laughs. “Maybe I like that you make the best coffee and I only like Roz making it because it means I get to talk to you,” he rocks on the balls of his feet. “Maybe I like that it feels easy talking to you and I already feel like I know you…I don’t know,” he mumbles. “I guess that’s some past life bullshit.” 

“Yeah,” she laughs, a wistful edge coming through. “Some sort of bullshit.” 

“So?” he says, eyes widening. “Would you like to go on a date with me?” 

The question lingers in the air, if she concentrates hard enough, she’s almost convinced that their chests are rising and falling at the same time. They  _ breathe _ together. Words sit on the tip of her tongue that she can’t get out. Maybe, she says in her mind. “Look, Ambrose, I don’t think… No. Just no.” 

Finally, their chests fall out of beat, and his chest starts moving faster again. The look of defeat on his face makes her feel like shit.  _ But it’s better this way, _ she convinces herself.  _ I don’t have time for this shit.  _

“Maybe in another time,” he says, a weak smile working its way back. “Another moment in time.” 

“Maybe,” she says, trying to smile back. “You never know!”

She goes to the coffee machine, frothing the milk and letting the beans grind. He stands on the other side of the counter in silence, reading through the menu as he always does. He starts flexing his fingers, stretching them out and drawing them back in while wincing. Finally, she hands his coffee to him but she eyes his left hand. “What?” he asks, taking a sip of his coffee. “One day I’ll try this waffle toasted sandwich… who came up with that idea?”

“You’ve got a sore hand,” she observes. “And it’s kind of a Roz special.” 

“Did the excessive stretching give it away?” he asks. Flexing out his hand again, he takes another sip of his coffee. “All the lifting of books day in and day out, now I think I’m paying the price,” he explains. 

_ This isn’t because you want to touch him, _ she tells herself putting some tape on the counter and making her way around her eyes spending just a little too much time on the shape of his arms… “May I?” she asks, lifting her hands in front of her. 

He looks at her sideways and puts his hand in hers. “You going to magic them better? I think it’s RSI…”

“No!” she scoffs, “I’m going to tape them together.” 

“Go for it then,” he says, relaxing his arms to his sides. 

Prue grabs the tape and forces his index finger and middle finger together, wrapping them up. Her ring finger lightly touches his snake ring but it feels like it burns her briefly, she jerks her hand away before continuing, knowing it’s probably nothing. Applying pressure to his other fingers, she realises those ones are okay. “That should do it,” she says, stepping back and clapping her hands together, admiring her handy work while he flexes his hand again. 

Letting his jaw drop and looking at her with amazement he says; “You fixed it!” 

“Should help while you’re lifting your books all day.” Prue smiles. “You’re welcome.” 

_ “You,” _ he says, pointing at her. “You have the magic touch. Healers hands!” 

“You’re going to be late for work, Ambrose,” she says with a laugh. “See you tomorrow.” 

He waves to her as he walks out and she waves back. When she looks a little closer at her hand, she notices the front of her ring finger, just below the nail bed is angry red. 

* * *

Prue smokes a joint before she even attempts to read the books for a second time. Now she’s sitting on the floor of her living room, flicking through the pages trying to get something out of them. What she was after, she wasn’t sure but she needed  _ something _ . 

Something to at least convince herself she’s not insane, but that wasn’t working out so great. 

She digs into the tub of ice cream that sits next to her on the floor. She knows she needs to return the books, they simply weren’t doing anything to give her the answers she was looking for and she wants to talk to Ambrose about it more anyway.

_ Shit _ , she thinks, her mind travelling to Ambrose. She did like his lips, they were full and looked like they were just right for biting, but his arrogance was both attractive and annoying which is what she hated about both him and herself. 

Why she was attracted to that, she didn’t know, but it did in fact make her wonder just what he could do with that tongue. 

On top of that, she hated that he was smart.  _ Book _ smart.  _ Life _ smart. He was attractive with his words and it feels like she’s heard it all before from him, and that in itself was something else she was attracted to. She likes something that feels familiar, because at least it feels  _ safe _ . 

She lies back on the rug, watching the ceiling as the TV hums and flickers its light through the room. Everything seems so lonely. Everything seems to envelope her whole and her days just all mesh together seamlessly - one long, drawn out day. 

No amount of caffeine and nicotine was going to change that, it just seems to enhance it all. Like a lowkey acid trip, purely  _ existing _ . But there was something about Ambrose that makes a faultline in her continuity, distorts everything. Cuts the darkness with a bit of light and makes the lowkey acid trip a little more colourful. 

When she’s alone, she wonders if he is too. And maybe they’re both existing alone at the same time. 

* * *

She can’t help but smile because  _ he’s _ smiling and it’s all teeth and squinted eyes. But she dumps the books in front of him on his desk and leans over to look at him. “These were shit.”

“Not quite what you were looking for, huh?”

She shakes her head. “Not in the slightest.” 

“Which then tells me you  _ know _ what you’re looking for but you never told me and I’m not a mind reader.” 

“Then become one!” she groans, taking the seat opposite him. 

“A mind reader?” Ambrose tilts his head as he slides the books off the desk and places them on top of a pile next to him. “In order for me to become one, I think you might want to start with telling me more about the dreams.” 

Prue hates talking about them. She always has. She always kept a layer of her dreams away from her mother, not wanting to tell her the full extent of her dreams. She wasn’t sure if she was scared of  _ telling _ people, scared of what people would  _ think _ or just plain scared of the dreams themselves but there was a fear there that she couldn’t ignore. Ambrose sits in front of her, eyebrows knitted, looking at her with concern. He reaches out his hand and rests it just in front of her. She eyes it. The gesture in itself calms her slightly, looking in his eyes, she knows she can tell him just this once. She leans back in the chair, folding her legs one on top of the other. “Promise me not to laugh,” she warns. 

He lifts his finger and crosses his heart. “Wouldn’t dare think of it.” 

She takes a deep breath before she starts. “I’ve always had vivid dreams, since I was a kid. Mostly like…” she thinks. “Like they were full of colour, but these days, they’re worse.”

“How so?” he asks, genuine intrigue clear on his face. “Did you notice when they started to change?”

“My mom died five years ago, just after my seventeenth birthday… and things started changing more then.”

“Makes sense,” he nods. “After a trauma.” 

She raises her eyebrows.  _ I’d never thought of that… _ “Now, they’re worse because I feel like I’m in the dream. There’s always two people in the dream. I think they’re a guy and girl…” she shakes her head, panic rising through her. “No, this is fucking stupid,” she laughs nervously. “I don’t know what I’m talking about.” 

Ambrose shakes his head. “No,” he says, putting his hand in front of her again as a way to stop her. “It’s not stupid. It’s real. Dreams are a serious business you know.” 

Prue rolls her eyes. “And what do you know about them apart from your dream of taking me on a date?” 

He bites his lip. “I don’t really know. But I know that this isn’t something to laugh about if it genuinely keeps you up at night. Tell me more…” 

She takes a deep breath, steadying herself before starting again. “Well,” she begins. “It’s like I’m in the presence of these two people and they’re so… I don’t know,” she sighs. “In  _ tune _ , I guess would be the right word. They’re from a different time -”

“Futuristic?”

“No,” Prue replies. “Way back in time.” 

“Do you ever see anything?” he asks, this time leaning closer. 

She wasn’t sure. She  _ felt _ things. She feels their love for one another, she feels their fear and the feelings their words give each other when they speak. Sometimes she picks up small things, the river, sun streaks and moonlight. “No, I don’t ever get close enough -”

“Ah!” he says, shoving his forefinger into the air. “You said it - you don’t get close enough.” 

“So?” she sniggers. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It  _ means, _ ” he says slowly. “That you’re trying to get closer but you can’t - not yet. This sounds like astral travelling if I’ve heard it!” 

She eyes him suspiciously.  _ Weirdo… _ “If ever I’ve heard it implies you may have heard it before, so, you’ve heard of someone going through what I’m going through?” There’s a trace of hope in her voice. Maybe she wasn’t so strange. Maybe he was this giant, human sized piece to the puzzle. 

“Well,” he says in a not so convincing voice. “I haven’t spoken or heard about it per se, but I’ve read books on it and it seems the same.” 

“What is it?” 

“Your mind leaves your body and projects itself across dimensions, universes… timelines, I guess. Out of body experiences…” 

He continues talking, explaining what he knows about the great adventure of astral travelling.  _ But that can’t be right, _ she tells herself.  _ That’s crazy, it's too much…  _ But the more she thinks about how crazy it is, the more she feels it in her bones. Her dreams were too much to be considered normal, average dreams. “Maybe I smoke too much weed,” she jokes halfheartedly. 

Ambrose smiles and shakes his head. “I mean, it is totally a possibility, I’ve had my fair share of weed induced crazies, but this is far too common and far too descriptive and  _ consistent _ for it to be a weed dream. Does anything else happen?”

Her nerves rev up again. The fine line she walks between sounding crazy and opening up was too apparent for her to feel comfortable. “When I dream of the river, I wake up and sometimes I feel like I’m drowning.” 

His eyes widen, jaw dropping before her eyes. “Prue,” he groans. “You’re unwittingly astral travelling, I’m convinced of it.” 

“I’m not,” she grumbles. 

“You don’t believe it?” he asks, cocking an eyebrow. “When you’re saying all of these things, how can you not believe it?”

_ Fear, _ she thinks.  _ I’m scared… _ “I’m not magical,” she laughs.

“It’s not magic… as such,” he tries to explain. “This is… out of body. It’s like conscious mindfulness. This is beyond science or magic. This is the power of the  _ mind _ .” 

“Now you’re the one that sounds crazy,” Prue mutters. 

“And you just finished saying you dream of people in a river and you wake up feeling like you’re drowning!” 

“That’s not even the part I’m scared of,” she replies quietly, almost in a whisper. 

His face drops again. “What is it?” 

She takes another deep breath. “I feel scared for them. Like something’s going to happen. Like…” she pauses, regathering her thoughts. “Someone’s going to kill them.” 

Ambrose this time reaches over the desk, grabbing her hands in his. Smoothing both his thumbs over her knuckles. At this moment, she feels like there was something caught deep in her chest that’s now released. Like she can breathe properly again or there’s the relief of everything falling calm around her. There’s no noise in her head anymore, the static ceases and everything feels like stilted air and rolling waves. “There’s probably a line you can walk between this reality and your dreams, Prue. And I think you might need to find it before it gets a little hazy.” 

Her hands feel warm in his. They feel like they’re keeping her on the ground. 

When she goes to smile back at him, his eyes look different, piercing and yellow hued - almost changed completely but in the next blink, he’s back to his caring self. 

They remind her of something.

Of his ring. 

* * *

_ Burnt embers ignite the room with a warming glow. Though his chest is bare, her whispers upon his skin keep him warm. He holds on tighter, unable to let her go or to leave her here in the darkened corners and shadows. Though her fear is easy to sense, he feels it echoing off her thoughts and can read it clearly off the palms of her hands, yet she will never voice it.  _

_ It is not until the cursed slumber shows itself, stealing her away to her own thoughts and dreams where she can no longer hide and lie to him.  _

_ Her remedy is not to sleep. She pummels herbs to keep her awake to see the next day’s sunrise and she hums songs to keep her lively. She ignores rest and refuses to back down. “You must let sleep take thee,” he murmurs. “You simply cannot remain wide eyed - ‘tis not natural!” _

_ His Queen’s face falls hollow, gaunt cheeks and strained. She fell upon her bowl whilst stirring healing remedies for a frail woman across the moor, falling to her tiredness. Her eyes, yellowed and feline, feel empty. “I shan’t rest until I promise we are safe,” she tells him, tucking herself into his arms.  _

_ She twists the ring on his finger, bringing it to her lips and kissing the sharpened fangs. “You fear such creatures,” he replies, eyes falling on her face to examine. Unsure of where the bold move came from, her fear of the snake was true.  _

_ “Not if he can keep watch and warn us of our enemies. We are hunted, my love. They do not trust us.”  _

_ His snake rises from beyond the foot of the feathered bed, twisting its way across his legs and resting on his body. “He will warn us, my queen,” he promises against her skin. “They do not trust us for fear of what we can do.”  _

_ “‘Tis their fear that will kill us, my love. They see us for magic holders, time turners and necromancers.” _

_ He lets his love continue speaking through dull firelight. Her fears for everything, for herself and the world. Her fear for their love and how they want to steal it away. She cries in the night when she finally lets rest take her, she howls his name and screams to the night that make him feel like he is falling apart. It tears at his very being and consumes his soul.  _

_ They all fear them. He and his Queen are part of the chase. But when they share visions, they hold the same mind and the same beating heart, maybe it was magic they had inside of them.  _

_ He fears losing her.  _

* * *

Prue drops her bag on Ambrose’s desk, rolling her eyes she says. “Okay, I believe you. Tell me everything you know.”

Ambrose chews on the end of a pencil before taking it out of his mouth and pointing it in her direction. “What’s in it for me?” he asks, beading his eyes. 

“That waffle toasted sandwich you keep pretending you’re interested in?” Prue takes a seat across from him. “The knowledge that you’re not a shitty person and you gave a girl some help.” 

He pretends to ponder on it, tapping the pencil on his chin. “Sounds fair,” he says with a drawl. 

“So,” she starts, clapping her hands together. “What do you know about astral travelling?”

“That it’s not easy.” Ambrose sniggers, tapping his fingers together. He eyes Prue and she catches it, feeling it wash over her. “That it takes a somewhat divine being to be able to do so.”

Prue clicks her tongue. “Not me, then…” she replies quietly. “Maybe that’s not what I’m doing at all. Maybe it’s just fucked up dreams that I need to get used to because I have an overactive imagination.” 

“Overactive imagination?” Ambrose asks, raising his eyebrows. “Is that what you were told as a child to help you suppress them?”

There’s an edge of humour to his words, but she didn’t find them funny. “That’s exactly what happened actually…” 

His low chuckle stops and he frowns. “You’re kidding.”

“I kid you not, sunshine,” she grumbles. “My mom used to always say my dreams were just an overactive imagination,” she shrugs. “No big deal.” 

He continues frowning, drumming his fingers on the desk again. “This could possibly be the biggest deal there is…” 

“Why?” 

“Because!” he says loudly. “This is all when it starts. In children. You’ve been suppressing it for years, but maybe you can’t. I don’t think you’re not preternatural enough to do it…”

“You barely know me,” Prue says with a roll of her eyes, folding her arms. 

He purses his lips. “I mean, that might be true… but I don’t know. There’s something there and I believe that maybe you have some preternatural layers within you that may just be making you inadvertently astral project.”

Prue doesn’t believe him. It was all too much.  _ Stupid to think I’m some sort of witch, _ she thinks.  _ This isn’t real.  _ “Preternatural layers?” she laughs. “You really  _ do _ read all day.”

“Think about it,” he replies seriously. “You go to sleep, you dream of water and you wake up and you can’t breathe?” he asks, leaning back in his chair. “You tell me what you think that means.” 

She doesn’t know what to say. He was right, it was hard to explain but there had to be some sort of explanation. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t know because you’ve never had a label for it. I’m giving you the label.  _ Astral travelling.” _

Prue shakes her head. Smirking at him she replies. “You just want to spend time with me and get me to go through all these books on astral travelling.” 

He chuckles. “I’m not going to pretend like the presence of your company won’t improve my days drastically, but I do also want you to be able to sleep without thinking you might drown.” 

Prue doesn’t speak. Letting the silence fall between them gives her the opportunity to breathe. Her thoughts pick up, loud and noisy in the silent buzz of the library. His smile reminds her to breathe and at the same time, she notices his chest rise and fall with hers. “Thank you, Ambrose,” she says. “For understanding me and for listening. And for not making me feel like I’ve got a fucking screw loose.” 

He laughs, placing his hands behind his head. “You know where to find me.” 

Prue nods. “Hey, chuck your number in my phone, just in case.” 

His smile is menacing as he grabs her phone from her hands and enters his number. “I don’t want any cat memes or random political articles in the middle of the night,” he warns. “Actually, send me the cat memes.” 

“Okay, noted,” she says, tucking her phone into her back pocket. “I’ll see you later?”

“Later, you will see me,” he replies with a grin.

When she goes to walk away, she feels like she’s left something sitting at the desk. Turning around to give one last look, she sees nothing so she gives Ambrose a quick wave and continues walking. 

Still feeling like she’s left something behind her, she knows she’s missing something. 

It’s like she left her entire soul behind her.

* * *

Prue gasps for air, rolling out of her bed, she takes the sheets with her. She can still feel it on her skin - something sliding across her legs, the smooth, steady glide of something creeping up her. A rattling inside her bones. 

She looks through her sheets, pushing the bed away from the wall. Underneath her drawers and by her computer desk. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for, but she knows she felt it. She felt  _ something _ . 

_ It’s all in your head, _ she tells herself. Slowly, she sits back on her bed, dragging the blankets back onto her and closing her eyes. 

Taking a deep breath, she relaxes. 

But this time, she can hear it. 

There’s a hissing in her head that she can’t get rid of. 

  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I want to thank the readers in advance. To open your eyes to my brain babies and letting them live, I will forever be grateful.


End file.
